Maybe I’ve got a twisted psyche (or a very black sense of humour) but the first thing that occurred to me, in seeing this fine array of axes) was what good weapons they’d make if you’d really had enough of an annoying partner…and figured you’d be able to get away with them bumping them off by a quick whack on the head, followed by a thorough dismembering…
The market is a great place to buy fresh fruits and vegetables - they are a bit more expensive than shopping in a supermarket, of course, but this is the price you pay for helping local farmers. It’s also an excellent spot to hunt out specialty products - pesto with truffle, French lavender, perfumed and fruit teas, all manner of cheeses and some excellent olive tapenades…
It’s actually quite pleasing to my eye - a very unusual installation indeed. It’s about 9 metres long and a classic spiral design - all swirly and continuous - which some might even feel to be a bit of an optical illusion. I did some research before I set off - it was constructed in 2004 by a Danish artist by the name of Olafur Eliasson. In German, it is called ‘Umschribung’ which apparently means ‘euphemism…’
I still can’t quite believe it when my flight is called at the gate. I won’t be completely sure I’m off until the plane gathers speed. But the line forms and we pass through, onto the shuttle bus and then arrive at the aircraft. I take my window seat, get comfortable and lean back. Yalla Israel - I’ll miss you but it’s really time to hit the road…
When the app sounds on my phone (setting off another wail, in case I sleep through the city siren) at 3am, the routine is now predicable: I throw on the nearest clothing I have to hand, grab my phone and, without even looking for my keys, run out into the hall. I hear other doors slamming and then see the familiar faces of my neighbours…
The gold standard of travel writing, for me, has got to be Paul Theroux, whose epic train journey in the 1970′s became a best-seller in the form of his book “The Great Railway Bazaar.” Setting out from Victoria Station, Theroux took one train after another as far as the Far East, traveling through Turkey, Iran, and Pakistan, onto India, Burma and Vietnam...
Founded in 2010 by three foodie entrepreneurs, it's packed to the rafters with fresh, local produce and an enormous range of products - fresh fish, creamy cheeses, pastas, sweet treats and - of course -fruits and vegetable...and In keeping with their ethos - responsibility and sustainability - everything is seasonal...
Israel isn’t out of the woods yet but, ahead of the rest of the world on the vaccine front, the locals came out in force for Purim, the one day of the year when grown men and women (as well as every child in Israel) feel free to dress in outlandish costumes, drink more than they normally might and party like it’s going out of style.
These photos were captured in Tel Aviv’s Carmel Market, where impromptu parties sprung up in all the side streets. I wasn’t looking for the most fabulous costumes, more a snapshot of peoples’ emotions…which after 12 months of sadness, often verging on despair, looked incredibly happy…
I know the world’s eyes are on Israel, that we are the guinea pigs of Pfizer and that our data is being handed over for careful monitoring. But I really don’t care. We don’t live in a perfect world and after almost a year of exhaustion, gloom, fear, insomnia and occasional despair, I am ready to take my chances. It’s baby steps I know - it will be a long time before I can pick up my backpack and head off to South East Asia, Latin America or Europe but, nevertheless, the palpable sense of relief I have, at this point, is hard to describe.
The fact is - as he writes and as we all know - that society places enormous emphasis on social relationships and the general assumption is that the more social we are, the more well-adjusted we are. But is this truly the case? Why does a balanced life necessarily have to resolve around a significant other, children and deep friendships? Can other pursuits not meet our desires - religion, art, literature, philosophy, music,…?
Seriously, where does that leave me? Travel is my alpha and omega. It is my raison d’être. if we all have little ’projects’ in life, like baking, children, motorbikes. gardening, DIY, mine is surely travel. I’m not good at sitting still and, from a young age, have been filled with an insatiable curiosity. As far as I’m concerned, the world isn’t big enough for me to see in a lifetime…
I’ve never once noticed these strange mushroom-shaped palm trees…I’ve travelled the world and never - to the best of my knowledge - seen trees like that. Has it actually taken a global pandemic to make me observant again…observant in the way I am when I’m off in far-flung climes, seeing things that I expect to be unusual, merely because I’m travelling instead of on my own doorstep?
The silence from Dizengoff now feels overwhelming. When your ears are assaulted by urban noise on a daily basis, you learn to adjust. Anyone who’s ever lived in the centre of Manhattan, London or Berlin will tell you the same. Horns blaring, buses roaring by, pedestrians chatting, neighbours yelling and bikes revving - it’s all par for the course here…
Wandering aimlessly through Covent Garden, I walked inside the doors of the London Transport museum and found myself in its gift store. There, I found an enormous collection of vintage Underground posters - colourful, vibrant, dazzling. Having taken the tube from a young age and, now living abroad, buying a couple of prints like a fine idea. After all, there’s nothing like the Underground to make a Londoner feel warm and fuzzy!
I have come to the conclusion that letters touch the soul - both when written and when received. After all, reading a letter is a completely emotional experience. Every person’s handwriting is different, just as is their DNA. A letter cannot be replicated (unlike an email). The ink smudges, the crossed out words, the creased sheets of paper, the stamp on the envelope. Every letter I have in my boxes is a one-off, never to be replicated. ..
I am stopping to notice things I never did before - ornate facades, beautiful stonework, the glamour of the…street and - as I’ve said before - its magnificent, sweeping curve, of which I could never tire. There are few others here and they, like me, are amazed. Some are walking in the very centre of the street (normally, this would be akin to taking your life in your hands), in search of unusual photographic opportunities…
In November 1970, whilst in the valley, a young girl stumbled upon the charred remains of a woman’s body, surrounded by an array of objects (including a sweater, jewellry, burnt paper and a pair of rubber boots). The police, having initially ruled the death as suicide, soon realised there were many incongruous elements to the scene. An autopsy showed remains of sleeping pills (phenobarbital) in her stomach, as well as soot in her lungs, which led the authorities to conclude she had been alive whilst on fire…
Last week, I forced myself to watch the video of George Floyd’s last minutes staring, in horror, at the screen as he gasped for breath, pleading for his life, whilst a police officer knelt on his neck (and three other officers stood by, compliantly). Enormous tears rolled down my cheeks. Tears of fury and tears of shame. Because what I witnessed was a modern-day lynching - a white man depriving a black man of his life, in public. It’s that simple…
